


Climbing For a Better View

by slightlyjillian



Series: Numbers Alternates [3]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-13
Updated: 2010-04-13
Packaged: 2017-10-08 22:36:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyjillian/pseuds/slightlyjillian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. All those insignificant little choices lead us somewhere. They do. But what if we'd made them differently? <i>What If</i> alternative to the Numbers series. stand-alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Climbing For a Better View

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Numbers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/56203) by [Alithea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alithea/pseuds/Alithea), [slightlyjillian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyjillian/pseuds/slightlyjillian). 



The television cut off as the news covered the teacher of the week. Nichol tactfully avoided the report on the economy by deciding it was time to take a bath. Sales had been particularly awful during the last few weeks. For the first time, he'd actually experienced the decline that the regional representative warned him was hovering on the horizon.

"Move, Danil," she recommended. "We could slide you into seminars. Send you to do instructional classes at the employers in the larger cities."

"Move?" he scoffed at the memory. He watched the water fill and steam began to touch the mirror. He ran a finger along the wet like a scar across his neck. He glanced at the pooling water and regretted wasting so much. He should have just taken a shower.

He didn't really fit in the tub anyway.

The narrow closet didn't have any towels, so Nichol left the bathroom wondering if he should check the bedroom or if he should give up on a clean item--when someone knocked at the door.

"Coming," he shouted, walking twice as fast back to the bathroom to stop the water and then to the door of his apartment. The steam had smeared heated wet over his face which he rubbed with the corner of his t-shirt sleeve. Hair damp, but nothing he could do except pray that it wasn't a woman. Because as far as first impressions went... He pulled the door open.

It was a cop.

"Sorry to bother you," said the face behind the hovering badge. Nichol would have noticed the voice was male, but the skin tone like a sun-faded page and the intensity of the dark eyes distracted Nichol long enough to miss everything the officer said after the initial apology.

"What?" Nichol commented, dumbly. He pulled at his ear, almost poking to see if he'd somehow gotten water inside. The world seemed to spin a little wobbly while Nichol took a step back. The officer took a step forward.

"...assist with our investigation," the officer said. The badge was back wherever it was that the other man kept it, and he browsed the room beyond Nichol with a furrowed brow. The officer seemed more amused at the surroundings than irritated, Nichol reckoned.

"Okay, well... I'm 301 obviously. Name's Danechka Nichol."

"Mr. Nichol." The officer failed to introduce himself. Or perhaps he already had. "How well do you know your neighbor down stairs?"

"Directly? 201, you mean?" Nichol asked. He ran his fingers through the curls at the back of his neck. Wet and too long, stuck to his steam-soaked neck. "I'm not sure. Sometimes I hear video games?"

"Heard any games lately?"

"No." Nichol dropped his hand. "Now that you mention it, no. I can't remember the last time either." He added the last turning to follow the officer with his eyes as the shorter man took a few steps into the simple living room. TV, off. The single chair with the arm rest covers fallen to the floor and a dusty go board in the corner.

"See any strange people coming or going from the building lately?" The officer's coat was tight along the shoulders, but not slender enough at the man's waist. Nichol would guess that the uniform was issued recently and something in the order had gone very wrong.

"Ah, what? No." Nichol shook his head. "I'm not here that often. My job..."

"What is your job?" The dark eyes had only the barest of shade differences from iris to pupil. Nichol found himself staring and had to look away.

Damn, his ears were burning up. The guy had to notice the color.

"Salesman for a supplemental insurance. Business is bad, so I've been putting a ridiculous amount of miles under my tires," Nichol said, the complaint issuing forth even though it wasn't necessary to explain the long hours. The officer didn't care if business was bad for Nichol. But he had to say it. He needed someone to hear. To know that Nichol cared a damn about it and there was nothing he could do. Nothing he did was good enough to fight the damn facts. No way to fight those.

"Alright, then." The officer clicked his pen closed without making a single note. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Nichol. May we call if we have any further questions?"

"Of course."

***

The call hit his cell just moments before the service was shut off. He thought she'd said her name was Sally, so Nichol pulled over and went into a shop. "Do you have a payphone around here?" he asked. The girl behind the counter was young enough to be Nichol's daughter and she stared. "Payphone?" Nichol repeated, making his fingers stretch by his ear and lip like a receiver.

"Cellphone?" she repeated just before the other clerk pushed her to the side. The teenager said, "Local call?" And offered his personal phone.

"It is, thanks," Nichol smiled, a sincere one, and ordered one of the expensive drinks leaving a generous tip.

"Officer Sally?" he asked when a police office receptionist was the one to pick up the dial-back call. "Oh, okay. Detective Po..." he waited and was put to a voice mail. He recorded a brief explanation of his disconnection and handed the phone back to the teenager.

When Nichol got back to his car, he found that someone had pried open the lock through the cracked window. His briefcase was stolen. Along with his iPod.

Kicking the tires only helped break the rush of anger the first time.

***

"Very bad day," Nichol sighed taking the first steps into his apartment. He set his jacket, briefcase (no, not the briefcase, it was still gone) and keys in their place. After a niggling premonition, he went to the bathroom. He glanced at himself in the mirror. Pulling back the shower curtain, Nichol reached down to drain the bath water from the day before. After the interruption, he had completely forgotten. How he'd missed the water in the morning only confirmed his suspicion that his brain did not work before ten am.

Sinking into his chair, Nichol turned on the television. A reporter, a blue eyed woman who had the worst fashion sense Nichol had ever witnessed on the six o'clock, was in the middle of explaining a surprising turn of events.

"The young heiress was returned unharmed, as you can see. Her rescue happened around three pm this afternoon but only after Dorothy Catalonia had already broken free from her bonds and managed to elude her captors. The family asks that any questions or comments be directed to their publicist. Information will follow. I'm Lucrezia Noin, back to you..."

"What's wrong with the world?" he grumbled. Then Nichol glanced at his watch. "Three pm." Just about the time he'd lost the cell phone. Glancing around, Nichol tried to remember where he'd put that bill. Maybe they'd take a payment on credit.

***

He had no where better to be, so Nichol put on gym shorts and walked three blocks to the basketball courts. Three blocks and the neighborhood turned a little rough. A few of the guys recognized Nichol and then they played for dollars. If they threw elbows into his side and put a few hands in his face, Nichol figured it was part of the sport. His stupid clothes were so much nicer than theirs and not just because he ran the old things through the wash now and again.

The ball dropped between plays.

"_Defense_, moron. What do you call that?" One of the guys with the cornrows raised his hands into the air as if he would pull the sun down to obliterate all stupidity and everyone else too.

"Whoa, whoa." Another man grabbed the orange ball and held it. "What're you doing here Midii?"

"Got something to say to the Russian."

Nichol had never seen the blonde girl before. Well, she wasn't exactly blonde. But it wasn't brown either. Her prominent nose lifted into the air slightly as she considered Nichol from the corner of her colorless-grey eyes.

"Oh," he said, feigning surprise. "I'm the Russian?"

"Who else, _Danya_?" laughed Cornrows, pushing glistening sweat from his eyebrows and smiling so all his teeth stood out brilliantly white.

"What is it?" Nichol asked, putting his hands on his hips and watching her bite her lower lip as if it were cute.

"Just someone wanted to say that Thirty-Eight is cleaning up his house. Which means he's been to your apartment and it's not safe there anymore," she said.

"Who?" Nichol scoffed. Then he noticed that Cornrows had stepped closer and grew still.

"Then don't listen to me." The girl called Midii shrugged. "I just deliver the message. That's all I do."

"Are you mixed up in that?" Cornrows asked Nichol. It sounded like an accusation. "The Numbers part of your deal?"

"I don't even know what she's talking about. Thirty-what?"

"Don't go home, Danya." Now the words came as oddly considerate advice. "Go someplace else."

***

Nichol realized the game was over. He looked toward his home, then turned to walk the other direction feeling somewhat ridiculous wearing athletic clothes and rank with body odor. Another street and he'd have a chance to sit and think over what had just happened. The cafe had an open table so, grabbing a paper, he sat.

The first article was about a shooting at one of the school. Only one casualty, a teacher. Nichol slumped back into his chair. He had to read each line twice as his eyes refused to accept the tragedy. Glancing at the woman's picture, she had a beautiful smile and dark Asian eyes.

It reminded him of the officer investigating the disappearance of 201. Perhaps Nichol should go to the police.

***

"Mr. Nichol. I'm Sally Po, we spoke on the phone." The tall woman offered a hand-shake and she didn't comment on his attire even though Nichol noticed her eyes more than once scanning over the orange and white material.

"Your partner..." Nichol started, glancing around and finally settling his gaze on the empty desk next to Sally's. He read the plate.

Sally waited then said, "Did you hear about the school shooting?"

"Yeah, the young teacher..."

"Meilan was my partner's wife."

"That's..." _awful_, Nichol couldn't say. "What's wrong with the world?"

"Lots," Sally's smile wasn't a happy one. "What can we help you with?"

***

Nichol sat in vacant chair and studied the candid snapshot of his uncle, Stefan Mihailov. The paper trembled slighty, more than Nichol could control, so he set it down and put his hands in his lap. "Yes, I know that man."

"He was recently connected to an embezzling ring, however before we could even bring him in for questioning, he disappeared. Mihailov has connections to a larger organization and has possibly retreated into their protection," Sally explained.

"What about my aunt? His wife..."

"Missing," Sally answered quietly.

"He's not a good person." Nichol turned his head toward her, but couldn't lift his eyes from the features of his long-unseen relative. "I lived with them, briefly, before I figured out that I could run away. What do you want to know about him?"

That morning, he'd never have guessed he'd be spilling his most horrible secrets to a kind detective while wearing his basketball uniform from an abbreviated first semester of junior college. Nichol never seemed to finish anything he started.

***

Sally explained witness protection and had left to call the marshals leaving Nichol to sit alone. He stirred from his thoughts when a shadow crossed the desk. However it wasn't Sally returned, but a very hollow looking Chang Wufei. Only his name plate on the desk shined cheerfully in the fluorescent lights.

"I hear you have a connection to the Numbers?" Wufei said. The words came out, but sounded hoarse as if he might lose his voice at any moment.

"Connection?" Nichol shook his head. "More like a curse."

"You could run." Wufei set his fingers against the desktop and leaned against them as if they were his only support.

"Or?"

"Or you could fight back."

"Why?" Nichol grumbled. "What does it gain anyone?"

"One more good person. Just _one_ more..." The other man shoved back and walked away with a tightness in his steps.

Sally appeared then. "Okay, so they have someone on the way and we'll get the paperwork together for your testimony."

Nichol rubbed the weariness from his eyes. "Detective Po? Is there another answer?"

"What do you mean?" Sally tilted her head. Her brain swung out as she heard the door close behind her unseen partner.

"Oh hell. Why not?" Nichol pushed up from the seat. "My life's rather hit a dead end regardless. What's one new start over another?"

Sally narrowed her eyes. "What are you saying?"

"I'll see you again," Nichol chuckled. Then, he boldly reached out to tap Sally's cheek with affection. "Cutie."

Then he followed where Wufei had went.


End file.
